I write as autumn spreads its distinctive colors across the trees and hedges before me. Colors that suit perfectly the people to whom this issue is dedicated: those in their later years—my dearest traveling companions.
To you first-generation parents of Ombre e Luci, and to friends of my generation who have chosen to walk beside us, holding our hands. Many years ago, we resolved to undertake a path of solidarity toward our cherished children, who brought us together despite the different roads and worlds we came from. With them and for them, we lifted our heads. We bound ourselves in a friendship that transcends distance, age, taste, and ideology—to show the world that the "weight" of their mysterious lives could transform into joy.
We have never dwelled much on our own aging, except to say that for their sake we felt we "had to" live forever, to never leave them alone. With God's help, we created a network of friends who made us feel as young as they are, so close to one another, so certain of the good we have given each other, that we have no fear of leaving this world.
Our friends—both younger and older—have become something like brothers and sisters to our children. And so it seems natural to us to think that when we go, we will not leave them alone. They will take care of it, surely, continuing to hold their hands and offering them some of that tenderness they have learned to give—and which we have witnessed—for their younger brothers and sisters.
We approach this Christmas of Jesus with serenity and peace in our hearts, singing together as one: Come, Lord; we are not afraid. Even as evening falls for us, you will always be near, and you will never abandon us.
Mariangela Bertolini, 2010